Jagar — calling of ‘gods’
#1 of Tales of Mokakshi. Short stories of love, belief and simplicity from a quaint Indian Village.
‘Her conviction was extreme and impossible to break. There was silence for some time. He was careful not to say anything that challenged her belief. She was fearful and didn’t want him to utter something bad that could make the Gods angry.’
In ‘Kumaon’ somewhere
“Everything is going to be fine.” — Neha tried to comfort him, breaking the long slot of silence.
“I really hope so.” — Kabir replied in a husky voice.
She kissed his hand and held it tight. She knew he was worried; worried to the core.
There was silence again; not in his head though. Lots of questions troubling him. Will she be ok? Why didn’t Tau ji inform them earlier? What the hell are they still doing in Mokakshi? They should have taken her to Haldwani or to Delhi for better treatment. Kabir hoped they aren’t hiding anything from him.
He was sad and he was angry. He wanted to reach her fast. He loved her so much that the mere thought of losing her was making his heart sink.
It was just yesterday when Tau ji called and told them about her illness.
“Your Tai ji is not well.” he said. “She cries for long hours thinking something bad is going to happen in our family. She complains of breathlessness and wakes up in the middle of the night complaining as if someone tried to choke her. She isn’t eating much and is getting visibly weaker day by day. She’s been under medication for over a month but no signs of improvement.”
“We are coming over.” — Kabir said as he hung up the phone.
Tai ji has always been one fascinating lady, defying her age with her looks. Even at the age of sixty, she looked fitter than most in their early forties. This sudden news of her not well was unexplainable.
“Is it because of old age kicking in or is there something else?” — he wondered.
They boarded the next flight to Delhi and took a taxi to Mokakshi, where Tau ji and Tai ji lived in their ancestral house.
Mokakshi was a small village near Kausani, a popular hill station amidst the scenic grandeur of Himalayas. Neha’s admiration for its scenic beauty, serene surroundings, away from the hustle and bustle of cities along with Kabir’s sense of belonging and his strong bond with Tai ji, made it their favorite place for the annual family vacations.
This visit, though, was going to be for a very different reason.
“How far is it from here?” — Ishaan asked interrupting Kabir’s chain of thoughts. “I am tired, and this drive is not ending, Papa.”
It was a long journey, both mentally and physically, more so for a ten-year-old who was clueless about the need for this sudden rush.
“We are crossing Kausani,” — Kabir said. “another twenty to thirty minutes from here.”
“Kausani! It is the same place that Mahatma Gandhi called Switzerland of India?” — Neha asked, “I bet baapu was bang on in his assessment. It’s such a beautiful place.”
Kabir nodded with a fake smile. Neha was trying hard to engage him in a conversation. She didn’t want him to think much.
Honestly, Kabir was in no mood to reciprocate.
“You came.” — Tai ji said feverishly; her eyes moist, a big smile on her face!
She was lying on the bed, noticeably feeble; looking much older than how she looked six months back. She tried to reach out, wanting to touch him.
“Why wouldn’t I?” — Kabir said as he bowed down to touch her feet. “But you don’t seem to love me anymore.”
“Why would you say so?” — Tai ji enquired.
“Why didn’t you inform me about your health?” — he asked.
“I am perfectly fine. Not sure, who is spreading these lies?” — she replied trying to dodge the question.
“Not true.” — he said. There was an apparent disappointment in his voice.
She hugged him tight.
“Welcome home, son.” — Tau ji said as he entered the room. “I have given up on your Tai ji. It is now your responsibility to take care of her.”
Neha covered her head with a dupatta as she saw Tau ji. Neha and Kabir bowed to touch his feet.
“But she said, she is fine.” — Kabir said with a taunting stare towards Tai ji.
“She seemed to be losing weight to impress you.” — Neha humored looking at Tau ji.
“She knows I hate skinny girls.” — Tau ji interrupted. “Ask her to stop troubling me or I will have to find someone else.”
“Tell him that he got to try that over my dead body.” — Tai ji countered with a strong frown on her face, “or, my ghost will haunt him and that witch for the rest of their life.”
The chitchat continued for an hour. Tai ji was trying hard to show she was fine. She smiled frequently, laughed louder than usual; may be just to prove her point.
Kabir was extremely close to Tai ji since childhood. He never met his grand mother who expired much before he was born. Tai ji, for him, was the grandma figure, full of selfless and unconditional love for him.
The feeling was mutual.
“I am glad that you came.” — Tau ji mentioned. “She seems a bit relieved.”
“What’s the plan?” — Kabir asked.
“We are calling for a Jagar.” — he said.
“Tau ji, please pardon my ignorance, but shouldn’t we take her to Delhi instead. We will have better doctors treating her.” — he cried; a bit shocked with that unexpected announcement.
“You believe in Golu devta. Don’t you?” — Tau ji asked; his voice stern.
“I think I do but isn’t this a different situation.” — he replied with a tone of helplessness.
“No, it is not, medications aren’t helping. We tried it for a month. We believe it is time to summon Golu devta. He is very generous and will fix all of this in no time.” — Tau ji replied with conviction.
“But then…” — Kabir tried to convince.
“When’s the Jagar?” — Neha interrupted, cutting him short and signaling him to keep silent. She knew there’s no point debating. She knew that in an argument between logic and belief, it’s seldom that the former wins.
“Tomorrow night.” — Tau ji answered as he walked out of the room. He didn’t want a discussion either.
“Are you serious?” — Kabir cried in anger. He couldn’t believe that Neha hushed him into silence.
“It’s just a matter of one day. I promise, I will consistently observe her. God forbid, if there’s an urgency I will raise the alarm and we can immediately take her to Haldwani.” — she replied to calm him down.
“This is ridiculous but sure, let it be your way this time.” — he said.
He hugged her; trying to conceal the tension building in his head. He strongly believed in god but wasn’t convinced if Jagar was the right solution for this situation.
He didn’t have a choice.
Invoking the ‘mighty’
“Did Tai ji wake up?” — Kabir asked Neha.
“She woke up early; as usual. We had our tea together.” — she replied.
“How is she feeling now?” — he enquired.
“She is putting up a brave front but she is weak. Her hands were shivering when she held her cup of tea. We will have to keep an eye.” — she replied with a smile.
“We must.” — he said, “Let me go meet her.”
The line between faith and blind faith is extremely frail. People around seemed to be crossing it real fast, to his surprise, at a time when the stakes were high. He knew if something went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for the rest of his life. He was worried, but helpless; with a strong urge to rebel. Talking to Tai ji and convincing her to go to a doctor instead seemed to be his final resort.
“Do you believe in Jagar?” — he asked Tai ji. It was a stupid question, but he had to ask.
“Who doesn’t?” — she replied with conviction. “There has been countless instances when Jagar helped us come out of difficult times. You have been a part of many of those instances; be it curing Basant’s never-ending stomach ache, bringing your Chachi back from her death bed or getting your Dada ji’s soul to rest in peace.”
Her conviction was extreme and impossible to break. There was silence for some time. He was careful not to say anything that challenged her belief. She was fearful and didn’t want him to utter something bad that could make the Gods angry.
“You must trust Golu Devta. He has been very kind to our family; always blessing us with great happiness and prosperity. As I always say, we are, who we are, because of him.” — She said breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Kabir nodded in affirmation. He had lost the debate; way too soon though.
“How do I look?” — Neha asked Ishaan.
“You always look good Mom and you are looking stunning in this maroon sari, bangles, sindoor and mangalsutra. You should wear it more often.” — Ishaan tried to tease her.
Traditional Indian attire was a rare sight for Neha in Hyderabad but here she was a changed person. She’s smart enough to let go of some battles to please the elderly when she knows this is not for long. This attitude makes her a real good daughter in law as per the Indian standards.
“This is for the Jagar puja.” — Neha said flaunting her sari. “You should wear a kurta too.”
“What is Jagar? Everyone seems to be talking about it.” — Ishaan enquired.
“I was about to ask the same to your Papa. Twelve years into our marriage and I am still unfolding mysteries of the Lohumi family.” — Neha smiled.
Neha and Kabir had a love marriage. She had her roots from Orissa and even though she belonged to a brahmin family, her culture was very diverse from his. Actually, there was hardly any similarity.
“Prashant da is your go to person.” — Kabir said, passing on the question to him. He wanted to refrain from making any controversial statements on this topic; atleast in this situation.
Prashant da, Kabir’s cousin, a defense lawyer by profession, was born and brought up in Mokakshi and was very well versed with all its traditions. It was hard to say if he believed in the concept of Jagar. You wouldn’t hear him say he doesn’t. He was a perfect amalgamation of Indian traditions and modern sensibilities and knew how to strike a balance between the two for the greater harmony of the clan.
“Your modern outlook would find it hard to understand or believe.” — he said trying to dodge the question.
“Please da.” — Neha requested folding her hands in the namaste gesture.
He started narrating.
“Behind the performance of Jagar is the deep-rooted belief of the people in divine justice and the Law of Karma — that bad deeds shall be accounted for and that justice will finally be delivered by the divine. It is the worship of ancestral spirits practiced in various parts of Uttarakhand. It is believed to be a way to connect and converse with the divine souls, primarily local deities, sometimes ancestors. During Jagar, people summon them to wake them from the quiescent state.” — he said.
“Really?” — Ishaan asked with disbelief, “but why would someone call them?”
“It is believed that this practice is an effective way to find solutions to all your problems.” — he replied.
“You mean we can call for Jagar if I don’t get good marks or if someone hits me or if Zuno, our dog, is not well.” — Ishaan asked a flurry of questions with an innocent look.
“Not really. They don’t call gods for such trivial things.” — he replied trying to dodge his questions. Honestly, the questions weren’t irrational, but he didn’t seem to have a logical answer. He was just narrating what he heard since ages.
“Ok, but we don’t have any big problems. Why are we going to the Jagar?” — Ishaan asked.
“It brings goodwill to all others present in the ritual. There are numerous stories to validate that several people have benefited from this ritual through ages.” — Prashant da said.
“Stories? I love stories.” — Ishaan replied. “Can you narrate a few interesting ones? I will tell my friends when we go back to Hyderabad.”
“May be later.” — Neha interrupted, “Let’s continue with the story of Jagar.”
“Ok, I am going out to play. But promise that you will tell me these stories later.” — Ishaan said as he ran out of the room. He often diplomatically excuses himself from situations that he didn’t find interesting.
“Shall we continue? It sounds very intriguing.” — Neha asked.
“There are three primary personas in the Jagar. First a jagaria, the invoker, who summons the invisible spirits by narrating and praising the deeds done by them when they were alive. Second a dangaria, the bearer, whose body is used as a medium by these divine spirits to facilitate a dialog and third a syonkar, the caller, who called for the Jagar to find solutions to his problems.” — he mentioned.
“Ok! So, Tauji is the caller in this case. Who is the invoker and the bearer?” — Neha asked out of curiosity.
“Mohan da is the jagaria or the invoker?” — he replied.
“Mohan da, who?” — Neha tried to recall.
“You remember, last year we went to a lunch party hosted by Chacha ji to celebrate the house warming of his newly constructed house. After the party, there was this lean dark person, who was helping clean the courtyard.” — he clarified.
“I thought he is a harijan. Chacha ji scolded me when I touched his feet by mistake thinking he is one of our extended family?” — Neha stated expressing disbelief.
“Yes, he is” — he smiled.
“How come he is a part of such an important ritual?” — Neha’s curiosity began to grow.
“It is an age-old tradition. It is believed that only a harijan can summon the gods by singing ballads in a special way along with musical instruments. Trust me, he is a very respectable person in the society.” — Prashant da exclaimed.
“Respected, and yet not allowed to enter our houses or temples and we must keep distance to avoid any touch with them.” — Neha enquired in skepticism.
“Yes” — he smiled, in lack of any logical explanation to support this intriguing disparity.
“Interesting! probably, a good example hinting that cultural discrimination didn’t exist during the ancient times and might have been created much later.” — Neha replied in an attempt to answer it herself.
“You may be right. I read it somewhere that in vedic age, people were classified based on the varna system which recommended classification based on a person’s talent and not based on their birth. By the pauranic age, it took the evil shape of birth-based caste system.” — Prashant da replied.
“Do you believe in the caste system?” — Neha asked.
“It doesn’t matter, I am a part of the society that believes in it.” — Prashant da gave an open-ended answer; subject to one’s interpretation.
“Who is the dang… I mean the bearer for today’s ritual?” — she asked to bring the focus back to the original topic.
“Guess who? Our Chacha Ji” — he smiled.
“Really, and what makes him one? His brahmin lineage?” — she asked.
“It is a bit tricky. It is believed that only people who wear janeu and practice brahmopadeza, the set of instructions given during upanayana, the sacred thread ceremony, can be a dangaria but that’s not enough. The exact reason who is chosen is believed to be a divine’s play and how, is still a mystery.” — he replied.
“Once chosen, the dangariya or the bearer is an important person in the society and is respected by all. His daily routine is quite different from that of the normal people. Every day, he must perform all the prescribed rituals. He must eat pure and must not indulge in any kind of intoxication like smoking or drinking. He must avoid eating outside. There’s a downside as well, if he commits a mistake, the God may get angry and punish him.” — Prashant da continued.
“So only men and that too brahmins can be the bearers?” — Neha clarified.
“Nope, that’s not true.” — he smiled.
“But I thought you mentioned Janeu being a prerequisite.” — Neha said.
“Yes, but what makes you think that only brahman males can wear the Janeu?” — he enquired.
“It is popular amongst male brahmans but, as far as I know, there’s no such restriction as per our ancient Vedic texts.” — he clarified even before Neha could respond.
“You would be surprised to know that a lot of women are actually bearers; invited primarily when a Devi is to be summoned.” — Prashant da continued.
“But I have never seen a woman adorn a Janeu. Have you?” — Neha looked curious.
“In olden days, similar to men, many women underwent upanayana, the sacred thread ceremony. They were called brahmavadinis. But later importance of marriage samskara for women became predominant. Marriage itself acted as upanayana, which gave them right to perform rituals by sitting with their husband and assisting him.” — he clarified.
“Yeah, I have seen my mom, assisting dad during all major prayers. Maybe, this was an early indication of the emergence of our patriarchal society.” — Neha indicated.
“May be” — he smiled.
“Things are changing now and that’s the beauty of Hinduism. It is very tolerant to change and evolution.” — he continued.
“And why do you say so? Don’t tell me you have seen women wearing janeu in the modern world.” — Neha looked quizzed.
“Absolutely, women who prefer to are wearing it even today. Institutions like Arya Samaj, Gayatri Parivar and Shankar Seva Samiti are doing work to promote it. I read it somewhere that today thousands of women are qualified priests. Many of them are more popular than their male counterparts because of their enthusiasm and devotion in doing worship.” — he said.
“Amazing, let’s call a woman priest next time we do havan at home?” — Neha said looking at Kabir who was abysmally quiet throughout.
“Yeah right, when was the last time you did havan back home.” — Kabir countered.
“I didn’t know there are women priests na. That’s why?” — Neha replied in an embarrassing tone. She didn’t expect Kabir to expose her bluff that openly.
“Any more questions?” — Prashant da asked.
“Who is being summoned today? You mentioned we could summon local Gods or ancestors?” — Neha asked.
“Golu devta, the God of justice.” — he answered. “He is in fact our kul devta as well. According to legends, he would often tour around his kingdom on his horse. He listened to the problems of the people and help them in best possible ways. It is believed, he still helps people who summon him.”
“Hmm… so this time, it is to heal Taiji?” — she asked in a tone bit sarcastic.
“Yes, that’s the belief.” — he replied. “Hope things are clear now?”
She shook her head in affirmation.
“So, you Kumaoni’s can invoke powerful spirits and talk to them. Impressive!” — she tried to tease Kabir.
“You bet, we surely are superior than your tribal clans back in Orissa.” — Kabir replied with a crooked smile and everyone burst into a much-needed laughter.
“Let’s go. I am excited to see how people connect and talk to holy spirits.” — Neha said, “And, I really pray that it has positive impact on Taiji as well.”
“I really hope so.” — Kabir thought.
The ‘paranormal’ evening
The Jagar was organized in the courtyard. Few people, who had arrived so far, looked busy setting up the stage for the ritual. Guru ji, the proclaimed prime priest of the village, was guiding others to ensure things are done methodically and exactly as prescribed in the religious books.
Guru ji identified a good place for dhuni, a sacred spot on the ground similar to havan kund or a spiritual camp fire. It was the center for performing several rituals like yajnas and in this case Jagar.
Guru ji began chanting mantras in Sanskrit as he started establishing the dhuni. He dug a circular pit and then bordered it with bricks. He covered the bricks with cow dung and poured red clay on top. He carefully fixed the copper container at the center and then placed the charcoal and sandalwood sticks to top. He drew multiple white patterns resembling swastika and stars around the dhuni. He established four asanas or low seating areas around the dhuni for all the protagonists participating in the ritual. A separate seating area was kept slightly farther away from the dhuni. The courtyard was covered with carpets and chairs to accommodate the visitors.
The chanting of mantras was infusing a lot of positivity into the environment. The chants were melodious yet powerful. Neha could feel occasional goosebumps even though she hardly understood the meaning of any of these mantras.
Soon there was a flurry of guests from different parts of the village. The elderly were offered chairs while the younger ones settled themselves on the carpet. Everyone seemed full of belief; they knew that this Jagar will not only bring relief to the family but would also do wonders to the rest of the village.
“Neha” — Ruchi bhabhi screamed, “come let me find you a pichora and a nath.”
“I don’t want others to taunt that twelve years into the marriage, you still don’t understand our culture.” — She continued in a tone that actually sounded more like a taunt.
In Uttarakhand, both pichora and nath are customary for a married woman. They are expected to wear it during all social and religious festivals.
Pichora, a special stole, is draped over the sari covering the head and the upper body. It has saffron base and red dots and swastikas; Red signifies energy while saffron is considered holy and the combination is believed to bring good luck to the women who are wearing it and their families.
Nath is a big traditional nose ring embellished with precious rubies and beads.
“Where’s Dolly bhabhi?” — Neha enquired.
“She can’t attend the Jagar. You see, she has ladies’ problem; it is that time of month for her. You know she shouldn’t touch anyone for these four days; forget about attending any rituals.” — Ruchi bhabhi whispered; shy to speak it aloud; way too shy to say menstrual cycle or periods.
“Can I meet her quickly?” — Neha asked.
“I wouldn’t suggest but make it fast if you really want to. Do ensure that you get gou-mutra sprinkled over you to get you purified. Gods get angry if you come impure to the place of worship.” — Ruchi bhabhi warned Neha with a stern belief on her face.
“Sure” — Neha smiled. She has been a part of the family for twelve years and was used to these traditions. The gou-mutra or cows’ urine had purified her several times earlier.
“You sit here.” — Guru ji instructed Chacha ji to take an asana next to him which he humbly followed.
Chacha ji was wearing a new dhoti with his upper body bare; covered partly by the Janeu. He looked bright and confident is this ethnic attire. One could clearly sense the pride of being the bearer on his face.
Guru ji completed his first session of chanting and blew the shankha, the divine conch shell, probably to communicate the inauguration of the Jagar. Shankha, used as a trumpet in almost all Hindu rituals, is believed to be the cleanser of sins and brings fame, prosperity, longevity and wealth.
He took Chacha ji’s help to light a fire on the dhuni and resumed chanting of the mantras. During his mantra incantation, he frequently used the basil leaves to sprinkle gou-mutra, kept in a copper vessel, in different directions to purify the entire place including the visitors.
“Mohan, you take that place.” — he instructed Mohan da, the alleged invoker. His seat was kept slightly far from the dhuni and other audiences. Special care was taken to ensure that he doesn’t touch anything. Mohan da wore new clothes and a white safa, a scarf, that was gifted to him for this occasion.
He kept his hudka, an hourglass shaped drum, next to him and quietly waited for the next set of instructions.
“Call them.” — Guru ji commanded amidst the mantra chants and instructed Tau ji and Tai ji to take the other two asanas near the dhuni.
He took out a copper thali, i.e. a plate, and two curved wooden sticks from his bag and placed the thali upside down in front of him. He signaled Mohan da to start the proceedings.
Mohan da started playing the hudka with his hands in a peculiar folk tone. Guru ji joined him; giving him the metallic beats by pounding the curved wooden sticks on the inverted copper thali. Sounds of diverse musical instruments made the environment ecstatic. The resonance amplified the music; the music a bit psychedelic.
“Amazing” — Neha whispered in disbelief. “I under-estimated these instruments. This music is elevating my heartbeats. I wish I could show you the goosebumps on my body.”
“This is just the beginning. Wait and watch there’s much more to come.” — Kabir whispered back.
“Yeah, but it is way better than those stupid nightclubs we visit back in Hyderabad.” — she said smiling.
“You bet. But here, only the protagonists of Jagar are allowed to dance.” — he smiled back.
She saw some elderly capturing the photographs of the event and sharing them with their loved ones on WhatsApp. It was their way of including others who couldn’t make it to the Jagar, owing to their busy schedules, far off in the city. Neha took out her iPhone and started recording the event.
Mohan da started singing a folklore in Kumaoni language to invite Golu devta. He started praising the deeds of Golu devta when he was alive; mentioned how kind yet heroic this avatar of Lord Shiva was. Life during his time was so good and now we stand in front of him with an aspiration that he would solve our problems.
The folklore went on for some time, the music and the vocal went louder and louder. Both Guru ji and Mohan da were doing their duties with full passion and belief. Suddenly there was a slight quivering movement in Chacha ji’s body.
“He is here.” — Guru ji declared and signaled Mohan da to increase the intensity of the hudka. He did the same with his copper plate instrument.
Everyone around got animated, folding their hands and gazing at Chacha ji with admiration.
Chacha ji’s body started to shiver ferociously; body movements didn’t seem natural as if being controlled by an external force. Both his hands joined, fingers crossed, he made cross movements taking his hands from right shoulder to left pelvis to left shoulder to right pelvis and so on. His body seemed to be in pain, yet he had a broad smile on his face. He started dancing joyfully; following the ecstatic rhythm.
“Why did you call me? What do you need from me?” — Chacha ji asked in a loud stammering voice; continuing to dance in the rhythm. He sounded different; he sounded possessed.
“My lord, nothing is hidden from you. You already know it all.” — Guru ji said with his head bowed and hands joined.
“You all are my ardent devotees. You have always kept me happy. I will help you.” — Chacha ji said, turning towards Tai ji.
“How dare you come here?” — Chacha ji shouted angrily looking at Tai ji.
“My lord, what did I do wrong? Please forgive me for my ignorance.” — Tai ji asked in an apologetic tone.
“I am asking you.” — Chacha ji said still looking at Tai ji; much louder this time.
Everyone looked quizzed, trying to understand what is wrong. Suddenly, Tai ji’s body started to shiver, her head revolving around the neck and her long hair covering much of her face. She screamed in a loud shrill voice good enough to scare even the bravest present around.
Kabir looked at Ishaan who appeared terrified. He was tightly holding Neha’s hand.
“Yes, you.” — Chachaji said. “You made a mistake. Big mistake and I won’t spare you for that.”
“You can’t do anything to me. I trusted you but you weren’t there when I needed you.” — Taiji screamed back.
Chachaji cried in anger and to Neha’s surprise, placed his hand in the dhuni and pulled out red-hot charcoal, and instantly threw it hard on the ground in front of Taiji. The charcoal was reduced to pieces.
“This won’t scare me. They must be punished for what they have done.” — Taiji screamed even louder and started laughing out loud. The laugh seemed unnatural; it surely wasn’t Taiji’s voice.
Chachaji went furious, this time he put both hands inside the dhuni and collected a lot of hot ash. He threw the ash in the air and made a few circular gestures with his hands. He then held Taiji by her hair and slapped her hard on the face.
“What the fish?” — Neha looked at Kabir questioning how can people let this happen?
He signaled her to stay silent.
Neha who had been pacifying Kabir, so far, seemed to need it herself. She was finding it extremely hard to understand, how torturing a sick person will help her in this situation. She was worried, it looked like it was just the beginning.
Chachaji picked the metal trident kept beside the dhuni and raised it in a signal to hit her hard.
Neha got animated, as if, ready to interject and defend Taiji from the metal trident, if the need be.
“Stop” — Taiji pleaded with fear in her eyes. “Don’t you think what they did to me was wrong?”
“Doesn’t matter.” — Chachaji said in a stubborn tone, clearly stating that he was not ready for any negotiation.
“Please, I can’t leave her body. It is painful and devastating outside.” — she continued. She seemed to be breaking down.
“Tell me more. I will help you.” — Chachaji said maintaining his loud tone.
“I am Duari.” — she said looking at Tauji with a mixed look of anger and disappointment. “I considered him and his wife as my own children. I gave away everything for them and they abandoned me when I needed them the most.”
“They must be punished for their misdeeds.” — she started crying uncontrollably.
“You have already given them enough pain. Just settle the score now.” — Chachaji commanded.
“I can’t. I am trapped, I am lonely and it’s painful.” — she pleaded.
“Leave her body.” — Chachaji commanded. “I will help you get free.”
“No, I won’t. They must be taught a lesson for leaving aged, helpless women to die in solitude. This must be a lesson for everyone in this village and no one else in this village must dare to do this again.” — she shouted back.
“Then I will have to burn you and reduce you to ashes.” — Chachaji signaled her to look at dhuni.
“No please don’t.” — she pleaded; one would clearly sense pain in her voice.
Chachaji started to chant mantras ferociously. All parts of his body shook uncontrollably. Taiji’s body showed similar responses. He held her head tight. The act continued for some time and suddenly Taiji’s body got calmer.
“She is gone.” — Chachaji declared. “You are fine now.”
“Thank God.” — Ruchi said taking a deep breath. “She was a great soul. Hope she rests in peace and never returns again.”
“Take Guruji’s help to conduct the trapandi shradh. We must do what Duari asked for. This will help eliminate your pitra dosh.” — Chachaji instructed Tauji.
It is a widespread belief that the souls of people who have unnatural death won’t leave this world until their unmet desires are met. This appeared to be one of those cases commonly attributed as pitra dosh.
Everyone formed a line to touch Chachaji’s feet and get blessings from him. He patiently rubbed ash on their foreheads and bestowed his blessings. Additionally, he gave pieces of fruits and dry coconut to some chosen ones who felt happy to be lucky.
There was a natural glow on Taiji’s face. Probably early signs of recovery or just an adrenaline pump as an aftereffect of what just happened. The actual reason was for time to tell.
“Did I just see a ghost? Is Dadaji a God?” — Ishaan questioned. He still looked terrified not leaving his mother’s hand; not even for a second. He couldn’t sum up the courage to get the ash rubbed on his forehead from Chachaji.
“Was this all for real? Who is Duari? Will Taiji be fine now?” — Neha released her set of questions.
Faith not so ‘blind’
“Do you really believe that Tai ji will recover now?” — Neha asked Kabir.
“Absolutely” — Ruchi interjected.
“What makes you doubt that? Didn’t you see? Golu devta himself said that she is fine now.” — Ruchi asked referring to Chacha ji’s spell bound demeanor during Jagar.
“I am not doubting bhabhi, I am only trying to clarify.” — Neha smiled to ensure this comes across as a curious ask and not a confrontation.
“This is a new thing for you. We have seen hundreds of cases where people got mysteriously cured after the Jagar.” — Ruchi replied with a stern belief on her face.
“Basant da, in his childhood, used to often complain of severe stomach ache. He got permanently cured in a Bholenath’s jagar. Your husband was there. He can confirm.” — Ruchi said looking at Kabir for affirmation.
“I agree.” — Kabir smiled. Saying no wasn’t an option.
“See, now you will believe.” — Ruchi said while rushing out of the room to get into her generally hectic routine.
“She works like a machine. Always busy. It is hard to imagine myself in this role.” — Neha took a deep breath.
Village life is generally tough due to lack of basic facilities; the life is tougher for the women. Their morning starts at 4 am, they must complete a variety of tasks before others wake up. They feed and milk the cow, boil water for others to freshen up, prepare things needed for the morning prayer, get kids ready for school, prepare food, ensure everyone is well fed, pick up their unclean dishes and wash them.
During the day, they take cattle out for rearing, give them occasional baths, cut and collect grass to preserve food for the cattle, collect twigs and woods for the fireplace, prepare tea for other people several times a day, indulge in vegetable farming while saving the crops from monkeys and wild pigs.
In the evening, prepare dinner, feed everyone and then clean the kitchen and the utensils. Not surprisingly they are also the last ones to sleep in the house. Sometimes even later as they need to oblige their husbands with the much-needed pleasure.
“What do you think? Do these things work?” — Neha came back to the main topic.
“Yes and no.” — Kabir smiled. “Let me tell you another story.”
“I was roughly Ishaan’s age and had a severe headache. The pain so unbearable that I had to wake up mom. She looked for pain killers, but didn’t find one. Since it was already late at night, we couldn’t have gone out; neither to the doctor nor to a medical shop. Remember we didn’t have easy to access emergency wards and twenty-four-hour pharmacies back then.” — he continued.
“What did you do then?” — Neha asked eagerly.
“Suddenly, Mumma got vibhuti, the ash powder someone had gifted her from the Shirdi Sai baba temple. She used the ash and rubbed it on my forehead saying, everything will be fine and asked me to sleep with my head placed on her lap. She lovingly stroked my hair with her fingers until I was asleep.” — he continued.
“Next morning, I woke up normally. I didn’t get that severe a headache ever after that night. I don’t know if this was Sai Baba, or my mom’s belief in him or my belief in my Mom. I know she didn’t sleep the whole night just to observe me.” — Kabir smiled with his eyes getting moist.
“Aww, so sweet. Seems like a placebo effect though.” — Neha smiled seeing him getting emotional. This was a rare moment for her.
“Not completely. It might actually be faith healing.” — he said, trying to get out of that emotional moment. Deep inside, he wanted to go run to Lucknow and hug his Mumma tight.
“This is similar to positive reinforcement that good doctors give when their patients visit them. They ask them not to worry and upfront declare with a smile on their face that things are going to be fine very soon. You can see the patients instantly feeling a notch better.” — Neha explained.
“Why do you think, they believe in the doctors whom they are not even related to?” — Prashant da asked, who was silently listening to their conversation so far.
“Several reasons. First, they know that these doctors are qualified and cure patients’ day in day out, Second, they know that medical science is evolving at a great pace and today it is capable of curing even the most complex diseases like cancer. The growth of life expectancy in India from forty-five, at the time of independence, to seventy in today’s time is a good testimony of the same.” — Neha explained.
“So, don’t you think, Tai ji’s deep rooted belief in the existence of the mighty Golu devta and her belief that he has helped millions of people through thousands of years and that his assurance that things will be fine, will act as a positive reinforcement for her?” — he asked.
“I can’t agree more. Maybe, this also explains why Chacha ji behaved the way he did during the Jagar. Maybe he deeply believes in this alternate world and feels some kind of connection with it. The stage that was set for Jagar and the psychedelic music helped him to get into a trance state and allowed him to live what he believes in.” — Neha concluded.
“You may be right or maybe there’s actually an alternate world that our modern sensibilities fail to understand. I should excuse myself now.” — Prashant da said as he walked out of the room.
“Tell me one more thing.” — Neha asked Kabir. “How come you never had any spirits possessing you?”
“They are scared since they know I am already possessed by a mightier evil witch.” — he said hinting at her.
“You bet.” — Neha said, and they laughed their hearts out. They were one perfect couple that many would envy.
“Oops! I think my periods started.” — Neha said in terrified voice.
“How can they start a week early? I don’t want to be isolated for next four days like Dolly bhabhi.” — She screamed as she rushed to the washroom.
Read #2, Mahwaari — that ‘time’ of month
